


Maybe When We're Home

by TeethHoarder



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, M/M, WW1, War, christmas truce, ludwig is awkward like all the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 13:23:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17705057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeethHoarder/pseuds/TeethHoarder
Summary: In the days leading up to Christmas in 1914, all over the trenches were unofficial ceasefires between German, French, and English soldiers.In Particular, other than sharing gifts from home on christmas day, English and German troops played a game of football over no mans land.





	Maybe When We're Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arinia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arinia/gifts).



Winter, 1914. The snow had frozen the battle over the trenches, the odd gunshot in the distance, from which side it was hard to tell. Each time it was heard, everyone would turn their heads towards it, a dull kind of concern and a silent acceptance on their faces that revealed they were far too used to it. This was perhaps the worst part; after the few seconds of the shot had rung out, everyone went back to what they were doing. 

Ludwig stood watch. Or, he sat on one of the old ladders that had sent so many of his men to their death and occasionally tried to peak over without getting shot himself.   
“It’s Christmas.” One of his men spoke from where he leant against the cold wall of the trench, “And we’re here fighting.”   
“Not even that.” Ludwig muttered in response. 

Safe to say, he hadn’t been enjoying this war. Watching more men suffer from sickness in these awful conditions had been worse than the death sentence of no man’s land. But they continued to send men over the top, those higher up safe inside their comfortable, clean beds. They had no idea. And yet they wondered why so many had shot themselves in an attempt to get away from it. 

“What I wouldn’t give for coffee.” The soldier shivered, a sad attempt at a smile on his face, “or a beer.”   
“Warm baked bread…” another soldier mused, his chin in his hands as he sat on a stray bucket, “Clean sheets and a pretty lady…”   
“Quit that.” Ludwig rolled his eyes, but smiled. One of the soldiers nudged his shoulder lightly,   
“I bet the girls at home like you, huh? Strong and silent type.”   
He went to reply, something witty was about to come out of his mouth surely. A joke of some kind. But it was forgotten quickly with the sound of footsteps crunching on the snow behind him. 

Ludwig snapped up onto the ladder, gun in hand and aiming it over the trench, ready to shoot. The man approaching stopped, “Don’t shoot!” He spoke quickly. The look of him was shocking to say the least. A British uniform, as filthy as Ludwig’s own, wrapped up as warm as he could.   
“…Arthur...?”   
The soldiers beside him who had taken up their own guns paused to exchange glances.   
“Yeah.” The Englishman threw on his best smile, arms still up in the air. 

The sight of him unarmed let Ludwig lower his gun if only by a little, his men following suit but remaining on high alert. Knowing the enemy on a first name basis, it was no doubt they might have questions. These soldiers were aware of Ludwig’s status, having been briefed by him before hand, as much as he preferred they act towards him as just another soldier, it was important that he not be left out in the field should he be injured. 

“Wow, you’ve grown up a bit, haven’t you?” Arthur commented, still standing with his hands up as still as he could, it made the German stumble over his words.   
“This man is Arthur Kirkland.” He spoke to his men after clearing his throat, “He’s like me. But for England…”   
“We’ve met before. Only he was just a kid back then.”   
“What’s that under your arm?” One of the soldiers asked, his gun still firmly in hand,   
“Oh? This?” The Englishman took a ball out from under his arm, the other soldiers quick to take aim on him again. This time, he didn’t flinch, only addressing Ludwig. 

“I thought, since it’s Christmas and all… we could have something of a kick about.” 

The men lowered their guns in confusion, looking to Ludwig for some guidance. He thought for a moment. This could be a tactic, to collect his men out into the open and shoot them all like open range cattle. But he remembered Arthur in his younger years, always the gentleman, would he allow such a betrayal of trust? And in the end, what harm could a game of football do? 

He set the gun down beside the ladder, climbing out of the trench to meet the Englishman, towering over him enough to be intimidating. But he held out his hand, “I’ll warn you, I won’t hold back.”   
A determined grin spread over Arthur’s face, “That makes two of us.” He spoke as he took the hand in a firm shake. 

\--

The game had spanned a while, troops from both sides joining in and playing. Everyone was competitive, but friendly as they kicked the ball and manoeuvred it to the assigned goals on each side. It ended with a win for the Germans, but the losers were gracious, offering to celebrate by cracking open some old beer they had managed to sneak from headquarters for Christmas. 

Arthur sat between the trenches, the troops behind him dipping between each side, exchanging gifts and singing carols in the snow. He held a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, looking over the path their great divide had made, wide and long, stretching god knows how far. 

He wasn’t alone for too long when Ludwig took place beside him, a brown paper wrapped parcel in his hand and his own unopened bottle. He didn’t speak as he sat, trying to find something on him that would open it. He hadn’t had beer in so long. It was an English brand, but surely it would do. 

“Here.” The Englishman spoke, taking the bottle. Without hesitating, he took the cap between his molars and cracked the bottle open, spitting the metal out into the snow and returning the bottle.   
“Impressive.” Ludwig commented as he took a swig,   
“Years of practice.” 

They sat together in silence for a long while, their breath visible in front of them before Ludwig spoke again, “Arthur. I have to tell you something.”   
“What?”   
“This is the worst beer I have ever tasted in my life.”   
Arthur threw back his head to laugh, “God it fucking is isn’t it? Bloody hell, spend this long waiting to drink it and it’s weak as piss.” 

He looked at his English companion for a while, something that could be admiration on his face. It was so rare for him to see others these days, others like him, it seemed to be ruined by the war they fought against each other. Somehow, that soft smile Arthur wore, tired and far off as he watched the snow fall from the sky, seemed dampened by the idea that tomorrow, they would be back to fighting. 

“Oh.” Ludwig suddenly remembered the package in his hand and began to unwrap carelessly it with cold fingers, finding himself struggling a bit, “I thought you’d like some of this, a thank you for the beer.” He handed out the opened package, a few small slices of bread inside.   
“Bread?”   
“Stollen.” He tried an unsteady smile, “It’s a gift from home. We eat it every Christmas. Take a slice.” Feeling confident, he gestured to it, urging the Englishman to take some.   
“Oh, I see.” Arthur picked out the smallest slice, inspecting it briefly. He watched as Ludwig took some of his own, waiting for him to bite first. Whether it was out of politeness or suspicion, he couldn’t tell.   
“Cheers.” He spoke once satisfied, taking a very small bite. It was likely the best food either of them had had in a while, a soft bread full of nuts and currents, something they both savoured. 

“Well.” Arthur nodded once they had finished the rest of it off in silence, “Now I feel bad for the shit beer.”   
“Don’t. It’s still beer, and it’s drinkable. Barely.”   
A sharp, skinny elbow jammed into his arm, making him laugh despite how much it actually hurt. He would have shoved back if it hadn’t knocked him to the side. The Englishman may have seemed like a fragile twig, but this was an empire he was sitting with, and he was just a small, lonely country. 

Ludwig pushed himself back up, brushing the snow off of his hand and arm. There was no keeping them dry, but better not to make the situation worse.   
“Where are your gloves then?” Arthur asked, tapping the ash off the cigarette that he had been neglecting for a while,   
“They got caught.” The German muttered, looking at his red, frozen hands. He hesitated to say more, perhaps it wasn’t polite to mention the machine gun they got caught in.   
“That’s no good, you’ll freeze them off.” Arthur sat up a little, holding out his own gloved hands to take his. Despite himself, the action caused the German to blush, letting his hands be taken like some maiden, he had to look away at first. Should any of his men be watching, he would bury himself in the trenches before they could mention it to him. 

He felt the warm breath of the Englishman against his frozen fingers as his hands were encased, and he found himself relaxing enough to look over, watching from the corner of his eye.   
“There…” Arthur spoke, rubbing the hands in his to keep the heat as best he could, “Can’t be having cold hands in times like these.”   
“N..no, I suppose not.”   
“I’m sure I have a spare pair somewhere, hold on…”   
His hands were finally returned to him as Arthur searched his uniform, pulling out from one of the many deep pockets of his coat an extra pair of gloves. “Those should do it.”   
“But… I can’t take these. They’re yours.”   
“Consider it a Christmas gift.” The Englishman insisted, pushing the gloves into Ludwig’s hands. He would have fought against it more, he could handle a few frost bitten fingers, but that smile the other gave him. It was lopsided, a bit of a mess, but so full of care that something in him seemed to escape from out of his chest. So he accepted them, muttering a thank you as he held them to himself for a little before making the decision to put them on and not let his hands suffer anymore. They were still warm from being against his companion’s chest. 

Satisfied, Arthur looked again out into the open, this white barren of freshly fallen, undisturbed snow in front of them. He seemed so peaceful, clearly in some line of thought that Ludwig couldn’t read. He tried to do the same, look out onto the snow, but he found himself always glancing back, trying to gauge just what the other was thinking. But, when he was noticed, he turned right back away, as if he hadn’t been staring. 

Arthur looked at him for a little bit, an interested expression on his face, “You alright?”   
“Yes. Yes, just cold is all…” It was a silly excuse, of course he was cold, there was no escaping the cold here. Movement from beside him caused him to look over, confused at first, and then just flustered. The Englishman had moved closer to him, leaning his head on his shoulder.   
“That better?”   
“I… Yes. Thank you.” Well, it wasn’t entirely a lie. Heat rose in his face as his heart pounded against his ribs. With such a close community in the trenches, you wouldn’t think him so touch starved. Not that he was usually comfortable with physical contact anyway, but right now, if they were home, somewhere warm in front of a fire, he might just have the confidence to wrap an arm around his companion. 

“I was thinking about home.” The Englishman spoke, much to Ludwig’s surprise, “So many men have died on this ground. They’ll never get to see home again.”  
“No. They won’t…”   
“But we will.” Arthur seemed to want nothing more than to get closer, going to far as to rest his hand on the German’s thigh. For such a conversation, this touching business felt very inappropriate. 

Within the silence of Ludwig struggling for words with someone so close to him, the Englishman who had made himself quite snug, picked up his beer and tipped the contents of the bottle out onto the snow in front of them.   
“What are you doing?” Ludwig almost panicked, it was shit beer, but why waste it?   
“Pouring one out for them.” The other replied, shaking out the last drops, “Doesn’t seem fair not to include them.”   
“I… suppose you’re right.” He stared at his own bottle, half full and chilled in the snow.   
“I think my men would prefer I drank the rest.”   
“Shit. Didn’t think of that.” Arthur tutted, looking at his empty bottle,  
the other laughed, short and genuine, “Fine, I’ll do a little, but beer is beer.” 

Ludwig was true to his word, just a short pour onto the snow and a prompt swig of it for himself. The sentiment was there, and he was sure it would be appreciated. At least it seemed to make his companion happier about wasting his own. Sitting there, he found it simply more comfortable to put his arm behind Arthur, not quite around him. He would never hear the end of it if this was seen. But, he had certainly grown used to having the smaller nation against his shoulder, keeping him warm. 

“If this war goes on…” Arthur spoke, his voice dreamy, “I wonder what sort of things we’ll do next year.”   
“Yes… I’d like to play football again.”   
“I’ll practice my penalties.”   
“If you get to them.” He was elbowed again, this time in the ribs – softer however, it didn’t knock him down, likely for the sake of them not falling over together.   
“I’ll get you for that.”   
“Oh I’m sure you will. Maybe you could use that weak left side kick of yours.” He shrugged, going for another drink,  
“Oh you’re fucking dead.” Arthur warned, his eyes narrowing but smile sparkling with humour. He stood, unexpectedly enough for the German to almost spill his drink all over himself.   
“Right. That’s it. Rematch.”   
“Now?”   
“Not time like the present, Beilschmidt! Get up, I’ll show you a bloody weak left side kick.” 

Ludwig wasn’t in a hurry, watching the Englishman rush off to gather his team for this sudden rematch. Determination sparked in him, the promise of friendly competition, and after one last hefty swig of his drink, he dug it into the snow and pulled himself up, taking a much calmer approach to find his men and gather another team.

**Author's Note:**

> The ceasefires were actually banned due to higher ups worrying it was getting more people killed than necessary, which is funny when you think that so many people died because of orders sending them directly to their deaths in no man's land anyway. Almost as if they didn't want people making friends with the enemy so they were easier to kill... hmmmm...
> 
> But! hope y'all enjoyed this lil one shot. I'll go back to the other things I was doing now.


End file.
